Hello Guys! So, imma be honest here and make a confession; the only thing sexier than a guy you crush on making out with a OC female character or a canon female character that you pretend is you is TWO GUYS YOU CRUSH ON MAKING OUT WITH EACH OTHER IN A FANFIC. THUS; This Pocket (Peter/Rocket) fic is born! (And oh how I would LOVE to be in the middle )
Chapter 1: 40,000 Units (Or, as I like to call it; Gamora who?)
"Quill, what part of go left didn't you understand? The 'GO' or the 'LEFT'?" Rocket shouted his frustration, as he tapped into the Milano's navigations array, manually entering the coordinates for the next jump, which was 10 clicks away from their current position.
"I got a little distracted when you landed in my lap when we took that heavy artillery blast back there Ranger Rick," Quill said irritably, hitting the control for the thrusters much harder than was necessary.
"Well I'm sorry Star-Munch, when you only weigh about seventy pounds you tend to get a little airborne when your ship is hit with class three Necroblast! Maybe if I wasn't doing everything around here-
"Cease your infernal yammering and fly the ship!" Drax shouted over the blasts of the laser cannon he was currently gunning.
"Look nipple boy, nobody asked you to stick your dick into anything! Just aim, fire, and keep your trap shut!" Rocket bit out, taking Helm Control from Peter and making the jump; effectively cutting off the blasts from the encroaching Badoon fighter-pilots and firing a matrix flux destabilizer into the jump point; effectively toasting the Badoon's only avenue of pursuit.
"Do not call me nipple boy furry little beast," Drax replied angrily, disengaging cannon fire and relocking the weapon before shutting it down. Rocket threw the nav into auto pilot and slid out of his seat, fur bristling on end as he strode off towards the stairs leading to the ship's habitat level.
"Rocket, where the hell are you going? We're due to land on Taltare 3 in under an hour." Peter reminded him.
"Oh please, who the fuck needs me up here? I'm just a furry little fuckin beast that's in everybody's fuckin way." He growled, taking the steps two at a time and shoving past Gamora, who was on her way up to the bridge.
"Rocket? Rocket, wait! Damnit. Gams, can you take helm control for a minute?" Peter asked, unbuckling himself and signing off so she could sign on and adjust the controls to her specifications.
Rocket locked the door to his quarters behind him and ripped off his aero-rig, tossing it onto his desk before kicking open a chest at the foot of his bed and digging out the bottle he had hidden at the bottom. He threw himself into his recliner and snatched up one of the many shot glasses he always kept stocked in one of the drawers, tossing back a shot of Xandarian whiskey and enjoying the burn he felt as it made its syrupy-sweet way down his throat.
"Definitely worth the 200 units!" He sighed, slamming down another round; a pair of azure eyes alight with mischief popping into his mind uninvited. It decidedly didn't help that less than ten minutes ago, he hand landed ass-first into the plush, yet firm lap that belonged to that set of eyes and had felt the semi-hard cock of the object of his fantasies of late through the tight fabric of Peter Quills well defined blue jeans.
Rocket didn't know exactly when or how it began, but he had been experiencing these particular feelings and fantasies for the better part of at least a year now if he tried to think about this issue chronologically. It had really begun when Quill and Gamora had mutually decided that they didn't have a thing to pursue after all, unspoken or otherwise, but had decided to remain good friends and colleagues because their tight-knit little group was a family, and they worked well together despite the occasional insult tossed around during the heat of battle. Since they had mutually decided to be friends, Peter had begun spending more time hanging out with Rocket. At first, Rocket was just enjoying the camaraderie and the presence of another drinking buddy since Groot was still just beginning to bud and wouldn't be able to fill that particular role the way he used to in the raccoonoids life. It had become a bit more complicated when Quill began sitting in his room to chill and watch him build different forms of artillery or sitting on his workbench and passing him tools when Quill was off duty and Rocket was tinkering around making ships repairs. They had kept going on R&R to different bars and clubs wherever they landed, collecting shot glasses from what they had coined their universal pub-crawl, and the best development had happened by accident 6 months ago when Rocket had come across an amazing Terran collection of horror and Sci-fi movies and television shows and had purchased the lot; downloading the movies into their holo-imaging projector, accidentally creating their traditional weekly movie night which Peter never missed unless they were on a mission, in which case they both had to postpone. Rocket was brought out of his reverie when his door chime sounded, causing him to chuck the shot glass at it as hard as he could; watching with satisfaction when it shattered into millions of shiny little pieces.
"Piss off!" He growled, taking a hit straight from the bottle now that he had broken his glass and was too lazy/comfortable to get up and grab a new one.
"Rocket come on! Don't make me use the override command!" Quill called out, nearly face-planting when Rocket opened the door without warning.
"Whaddaya want?" Rocket asked him sullenly, popping the feet of the recliner up to avoid Peter's gaze.
"I wanted to make sure that you were okay. You seemed pretty pissed off when you left the bridge," Peter replied, taking a seat on the edge of Rockets bed; which definitely wasn't helping him think as all of his blood seemed to rush to his groin, but then he remembered the way Peter had quickly shoved him off of his lap earlier when he had been thrown there by the blast and it killed his arousal immediately. Surely Quill had been disgusted that Rockets furry little ass had touched that part of his anatomy, even through their mutual layers of clothing. Maybe Peter was having second thoughts about Gamora and that was the reason that he was sporting half-wood earlier during their heated getaway with the commissioned relic; there wasn't any other explanation for it….
"I'm fine." Rocket finally said in clipped tones, snatching a half-finished fusion modulator off of his desk and fiddling with it.
"Rocket, don't do this." Peter said, taking the fusion modulator from his talented fingers and placing It back in its original position on his desk.
"Do what? What are you talkin about Quill?" Rocket asked, leaping up and snatching another shot glass from the desk drawer.
"It took me over a year to get you to open up to me and treat me like I was a friend and equal. Two hours ago, we were able to just shoot the shit and have…what we had. Please don't shut me out again, that's all I'm asking here," He said, taking a shot glass for himself from the drawer and holding it out for Rocket to fill. The Procyon hesitated for only a moment before he sighed and gave in, pouring Quill a double and watching as he knocked it back smooth, whisky remnants shining on his lips momentarily before his tongue made an appearance, swiping the sweet liquor away with relish.
"Damn, that's good grog Rocky." Peter sighed, patting the space on the bed next to him in silent invitation for Rocket to sit with him.
"Look, I just need to cool off, Ok? Drax pissed me the fuck off with his mouth and I wasn't exactly thrilled when our mission went pear-shaped earlier and we had to pull together to beat a retreat. It was fuckin sloppy and we're better than that and we're capable of better if Drax would pull his head out of his ass and learn to read our signals." Rocket shrugged, skirting the issue with his accidental landing on Peter's literal cock-pit earlier.
"Well when we hit Taltare 3 in 40 minutes, I was thinking that Gams can drop off the relic and collect and you and I can check out this club I was looking up earlier. We did the last drop and collect, so it's her and Drax's turn anyhow. In fact, before we hit the club, we could grab some chow too because I'm starved. What do you say? Think that'll cool you down enough?" Peter asked, and fuck if he didn't add in that goddamn smile that made Rocket's toes curl and his balls turn blue.
"Yeah, yeah. You buy dinner, I'll get the bar tab. Sound good?" Rocket asked, trying to ignore the way Peter's cologne combined with his own natural Terran pheromones were making him dizzy.
"Nah, I got tonight covered Rocket. Your units are no good here," Quill said with a wink, rising to his feet and striding to the door and Rocket couldn't help but watch that ass as it swayed cockily, tauntingly, with Quills movements until he stopped and turned to face him again, struck with a thought.
"Uh, speaking of tonight Rocky, why don't you wear that new suit you picked up in Xandar a few weeks ago?" He asked, some emotion that Rocket couldn't quite place dancing in Quills eyes.
"Why?" Rocket asked, taken aback by the request. Quill had never gave a fuck about what he wore before now.
"You'll see later. Just humor me, okay?" He asked, and his voice sounded a little different too; quieter and…..Nah. Rocket dismissed the turn of his thoughts with a minute shake of his head as Peter exited his quarters, leaving a very flustered raccoonoid in his wake to prepare for another "guy night/intergalactic pub crawl".
Well, he would rather be able to spend time with Peter in some capacity than none at all…..